


Falling Upward

by moonstalker24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aviation, Because of Reasons, Flying, Gen, M/M, Stiles is a pilot, also mentions of mama stilinski, technical flying stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstalker24/pseuds/moonstalker24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing quite like flying. There is a calm and a peace found in the sky that cannot be found on earth. All the chaos of the world is below you and there is no sound save that which the propeller makes as the engine turns it. You are free and unfettered and the clouds are close enough to touch; all you need do is stretch out your hand to grasp them.</p>
<p>Stiles takes Peter flying after he gets out of Eichen House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Upward

**Author's Note:**

> Mala was an angel and proof read this for me. Mostly because I needed to know if it needed a glossary. It does, but only a little one because apparently I explained things pretty well. So....
> 
> **Glossary**  
>  VFR - visual flight rules  
> IFR - instrument flight rules  
> Pitot Tube - The pitot tube is the thing through which ram air pressure is measured in order to receive airspeed readings.  
> Pitot Cover - The thing that covers the openings on the pitot tube when the airplane is not in use to prevent blockage.  
> fixed-pitch - means that the angle at which the propeller cuts through the air cannot be adjusted.  
> Aileron - the part of the wing that moves up or down and causes the aircraft to turn left or right.  
> Flaps - allow for a steeper angle of descent without increasing speed.  
> Fuel sump - small ports in the wing and under the engine cowling through which fuel can be drawn from the tanks.  
> Static Wicks - discharge electrical charge off the airframe.  
> Elevator - horizontal part of the tailplane that controls up and down movement.  
> Rudder - vertical part of the tailplane that controls side to side coordination.  
> Trim Tab - use of trim removes control pressure from the pilot and helps with level flight.

**Falling Upward**

 

_“Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,_

_And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;_

_Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds -_

_and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of -_

_wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence._

_Hovering there I’ve chased the shouting wind along_

_and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air._

 

_Up, up the long delirious burning blue_

_I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,_

_where never lark, or even eagle, flew;_

_and, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod_

_the high unsurpassed sanctity of space,_

_put out my hand and touched the face of God.”_

_\- John Gillespie Magee, Jr_

There is nothing quite like flying. There is a calm and a peace found in the sky that cannot be found on earth. All the chaos of the world is below you and there is no sound save that which the propeller makes as the engine turns it. You are free and unfettered and the clouds are close enough to touch; all you need do is stretch out your hand to grasp them.

There is nothing quite like flying.

Stiles moves with easy grace, each movement ingrained into his very soul. His fingers trail over shining, painted wings as he walks around the craft. He searches for cracks and dents as he tests each light. He removes the pitot cover. He looks for red hydraulic fluid and checks for proper tread on the tires. He runs the tips of his fingers along the propeller blade (76-inch, fixed-pitch, steel) checking for chips. Checks the air filter for the engine and checks the oil level. Flicks the exhaust and listens to it ring, no cracks.

He checks the ailerons, the points where they connect to the wings, counts the weights (one, two, three). Pushes on the flaps, they are secure. Climbs up on each wing to check for sufficient fuel, then sumps a small amount from each of the thirteen sumps, holding it up to the sun to check for proper color and any contaminates. It’s good, blue as it should be (100 low-lead aviation fuel).

He checks each antenna, makes sure the external data plate is there, counts static wicks. He checks the elevator for free movement, checks the joints and connections. He is careful not to push on the trim tab or rudder.

When he is finished, he steps back with a sigh and gazes at the little plane with a small, content smile on his face. The kind that rarely sits there. One only Scott or his father would recognize.

It’s a small plane. A Cessna 172, high wing, fixed gear, steam gauge. It’s painted white with maroon wingtips and tail. N7265Z is painted in very large print on both sides of the tailplane. It’s not the fastest aircraft ever (cruise speed sits right around 100 knots), but it sure is fun to fly. It’s equipped with a Garmin 430 GPS system, DME and two VOR receivers.

Stiles keeps it in an Instrument Flight Rules airworthy condition, even if he doesn’t fly nearly as much as he wants to.

He loves this little plane. Flight was the one thing his Mom had shared with him from when he was a toddler in a high chair. Bette was the plane his mother had bought and taught Stiles to fly in when he was ten. They’d only gone up once or twice after she had gotten sick, but flying was still in his mother’s soul.

Claudia Stilinski had shared that love with her child and Stiles could never imagine anything else. The moment he had turned seventeen he had gotten his Private Pilot Certificate, then he’d gotten his Multi-engine Rating and his Instrument Rating and somewhere along the way John Stilinski had realized that his son was going to fly for the rest of his life.

John was prone to airsickness.

Stiles had no plans to go to college. The only thing stopping him from a Commercial Rating was high school. Only John and Scott really knew that Stiles wasn’t really considering college. Lydia would throw an absolute fit when she found out that the person she was competing with for Valedictorian had no plans to go to college.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care. Oh, he might have, at one point; but not anymore.

Stiles unchained Bette from the ramp, pulled the sunscreen out of the windows and rolled it up, tucking it into the back seat with his bag. He plugged in his headset and hooked it over the yoke tucked his water bottle, sectional chart and ipad into the pocket by the door. He rounded the plane and plugged in a second headset and draped it over the yoke of the right seat.

His passenger was late, but he didn’t really mind.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was brightly blue, there were some scattered, fluffy cirrus clouds hovering up around 5000 feet. Visibility was great and he wasn’t actually really going anywhere. That was the joy of VFR flight. He was going to go meander around the world and see what there was to see and just enjoy being up.

When Peter arrives a few minutes later Stiles is ready to go. Peter was truly surprised at the invitation. Here was something that Stiles guarded. It was his, and his alone. After spending six months in Eichen House and then a following three being ostracized by the pack, Peter had been expecting continued shunning.

Stiles, however, may be the kind to hold a grudge until the end of the world, but he also knew when to let things go. The fire had damaged far more than Peter’s body. Stiles knew what it felt like to live outside (and yet inside) your own body, detached as it did horrifying things to the people around you. The circumstances may have been different, but the result was the same.

No one recovers from that amount of breakage without losing a few of the pieces.

So Peter had accepted with some shock when Stiles had invited him to go on an adventure. He hadn’t been expecting this.

Stiles grinned at Peter as they climbed into Bette. He talked Peter through the headset (mic close enough to touch the lips when pursed. In no case was he to push the button on the yoke. He didn’t need it to talk to Stiles and had no reason to broadcast on the area frequency.) Stiles explained that Peter needed to keep his feet off the pedals, thanks. He explained the operation of the doors, seat belts, the location of the fire extinguisher. No smoking in the airplane. Stiles was in command and they would be exercising Sterile Cockpit (no unnecessary chatter during ground ops, takeoff, landing) during critical phases of flight.

Then it became a checklist. Peter watched avidly as Stiles came alive with a joy he had never seen on his face before.

Circuit breakers, all in. Stiles’ hand brushed Peter’s knee as he ran his hand over them to check. All switches, off. Ignition? Off. Stiles inserted the key. Avionics, off. Alternate Static, off. Fuel selector, both. Fuel shutoff valve, on. Battery Master, on. Beacon, on. Throttle to ¼ open. Fuel Pump, on. Mixture Rich for flow, then cutoff. Fuel Pump, off.

Stiles pressed his feet into the tops of the rudder pedals to hold the brakes, then yelled “Clear Prop!” out his open window. He turned the key in the ignition with one hand and slowly advanced the mixture until the engine caught and the propeller spun and settled into motion. He pulled the throttle back to 1000 RPM and checked the oil pressure, then leaned the mixture and reduced the throttle again.

The flaps came up. Stiles hit the avionics switch and put on his headset.

“Check, check. Can you hear me?” Stiles asked.

“I can hear you” Peter said.

“Loud and clear,” Stiles said with a grin at the werewolf in the right seat. He hit a button on the radio and a voice came on over the frequency.

_“Beacon Hills Municipal Atis Information Bravo. Time 1847 zulu. Wind three-six-zero at seven. Sky condition scattered at 5000. Visibility nine statute miles. Temperature one-nine, Dew Point eight. Altimeter two-nine nine-six. Runway three-two is in use. VFR departure advise on initial contact direction of departure.”_

Stiles copied the information down on the notepad strapped to his leg and then turned off the broadcast. He put the current altimeter setting into the kollsman window on the instrument. Then he hit enter on the GPS.

“Half up, half left, out of view.”

He hit the button again, but didn’t program in a flight plan. They didn’t really have one. He double checked the frequencies set into com 1. Ground and Tower. Then leaned back to take in the entire instrument panel.

“Airspeed is zero. Attitude indicator is level within five degrees of bank. Altimeter is set at two-nine nine-six, within seventy-five feet of ground elevation. Turn coordinator is level, ball in the center, no bubbles or cracks. Heading indicator is set to the mag compass and vertical speed is zero.”

Peter listened, fascinated, watching as Stiles declared brakes check. Cleared their left and right and then eased up on the brakes. They rolled forward and Stiles stomped on the brakes. He declared that his brakes were good and they were ready to go.

They eased into a turn and caught the yellow stripe on the tarmac. Stiles put the centerline between his legs and they stopped just before they reached the area where the ramp met the taxiway. There was quite a bit of space between the small aircraft at the taxiway line, but Peter figured it was probably there so that they could turn around if they needed to without any part of the aircraft encroaching on the airport surface.

Stiles depressed the button on his yolk and spoke “Beacon Hills Ground, Cessna seven-two-six-five-zulu, south ramp with Bravo, VFR northeast departure, ready for taxi.”

_“Cessna seven-two-six-five-zulu, Beacon Hills Ground, runway three-two, taxi via alpha, alpha six, hold short runway three-two. Advise when run-up is complete.”_

Stiles hit the button again, “Runway three-two via alpha, alpha six, hold short runway three-two, advise when done with run-up. Seven-two-six-five-zulu.”

Stiles cleared them, left and right again, and then they rolled out onto the taxiway. Peter watched the airport roll by as they passed all the buildings. Noted that Stiles was steering with his feet. The taxiway paralleled the runway in use and Peter watched as a small two-engine aircraft took off.

Eventually they turned onto A6, and Stiles pulled them off to one side of the centerline. Then the run-up began.

Annunciator panel, check. Mixture, full forward. Throttle to 1800 RPM. Magnetos check (left, then right, drop not to exceed 150) Engine instruments, all green. Ammeter, check. Suction gauge, check. Throttle idle check (between 600 and 800 RPM), then back to 1000. Mixture, slightly lean.

“Pre-takeoff brief” Stiles said in the same tone he’d used to brief the doors and seat belts. He called it his flight attendant voice. “In case of engine failure or abnormality, immediately close throttle, stop straight ahead and avoid obstacles. If not enough runway remains to stop, (here he put a hand motion to each item to indicate what he was going to do) mixture cutoff, fuel shutoff valve off, battery master off, ignition off, avoid obstacles.

In case of engine failure immediately after takeoff, land on remaining runway within thirty degrees of centerline, avoid obstacles, do not attempt 180 degree turn. Airspeed, lower nose and establish pitch for best glide. Flaps, as necessary. Power, as available. Time permitting, declare an emergency. Fuel shutoff valve off, mixture cutoff, ignition off, battery master off.”

Stiles then checked the flight controls. He turned the yolk left and right, looking out the windows to make sure the ailerons moved up and down as directed. He looked out the back window and pulled the yolk out to check that the elevator moved as it should. He pressed down on each rudder pedal to check for correct motion.

He checked the instruments again, the fuel gauge, double checked that the fuel selector was still on both. Set the trim to takeoff, checked that the flaps were secure. Set the bug on the heading indicator to a runway heading.

“Ok, for our departure brief, we will be departing from runway three-two, climbing to 1000 and then making our right turn to depart northeast” Stiles explained, then put the mixture full forward, checked the engine instruments again and said “Seat belts are fastened. Doors and windows are closed and locked. Landing light, strobe light (he hit the switches to turn those on as he said them) transponder is on ALT and squawking VFR.”

Stiles hit the button for his mic “Beacon Hills Ground, seven-two-six-five-zulu is done with run-up and ready for departure.”

_“Six-five-zulu, roll up to hold short and contact tower.”_

“Hold short, contact tower, six-five-zulu.”

Stiles rolled the aircraft up to the runway entrance and hit the button to switch the frequencies, then he quickly dialed in the area frequency as he spoke into the mic again. “Beacon Hills Tower, Cessna seven-two-six-five-zulu is holding short runway three-two, ready for takeoff.”

_“Cessna seven-two-six-five-zulu, northeast departure approved. Runway three-two clear for takeoff.”_

“Three-two, clear for takeoff, six-five-zulu.”

They rolled onto the runway. As they turned to straddle the centerline Peter expected to come to a stop, but they kept rolling. Stiles advanced the throttle, declared engine instruments green, then full power. As they sped up Stiles said “Airspeed alive” and Peter felt a knot of something like excitement (the kind you feel as the roller coaster goes up that first hill) settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Rotating,” Stiles said, then they were in the air.

The earth fell away from them. It felt like falling and floating and almost like they were stationary for a moment. Then they were one, two, three hundred feet in the air. Colors seemed richer for a moment and Stiles couldn’t restrain his grin as he glanced over at Peter. Peter who was peering out his window at the rapidly shrinking ground with a hint of childlike amazement in his eyes.

Flying like this, in an airplane where you could see everything; where you could see the propeller moving and hear the engine muffled by your headset, was so different compared to flying in one of the big jet liners.

It was almost incomparable.

Stiles grinned again as Peter looked over and their eyes caught. Peter smiled back and his eyes flashed that eerie beta blue for a second before he was peering back out at the world.

Stiles turned his attention back to the controls. They hit a thousand feet AGL and he turned them northeast to take them out over the small mountains and the preserve. He leveled them off at 3000 feet until they exited Beacon Hills Municipal’s Delta airspace, then he set a climb to 4000.

“Are we going into the clouds?” Peter asked, speaking for the first time since the radio check. He was gazing at the clouds as they got closer, half tempted to open his window and reach for them.

“Nah. They’re deceptive, we’re about a thousand feet below them, give or take a hundred” Stiles said as he leveled off and set them to cruise.

“But we could?”

“Technically? Not without filing IFR” Stiles said with a grin. “We’re VFR so we have to stay clear.”

“Technically?”

“I’m instrument rated, so if we do I know what to do.”

“Okay.”

Stiles broadcasted a position report on the area frequency and then the aircraft went silent. Stiles could feel the utter joy flow through him as his body settled into flight. His heart constricted for a second and he smiled softly, swearing he could feel his mother’s spirit with him for a few moments.

Peter watched the trees slip past below them. Stiles turned them westbound, toward the coast and they settled into the quiet peace of flying.

As they ate away the miles Stiles spoke: “I used to think that there was nothing flying couldn’t solve.”

Peter turned to look at Stiles. He watched deft hands and watchful eyes as they maneuvered the aircraft. He felt inexplicably safe.

“Everything always seems so far away, but then you get back down and everything you left behind is still there.” Stiles smiled. It was bittersweet, raw, but real. “I never wanted to be a wolf.”

“You’re more of a bird, anyway” Peter told him.

As the trees fell away, giving first to farmland and then the coastline, they watched. White clouds drifted past, close enough to touch and yet, still too far away. As they flirted with the coastline, they watched waves crash on the distant shore. Stiles felt something hard that had been lodged in his chest fall away as he left his worry and pain behind him in the sky.

Peter felt something inside him unclench and he watched the world from a new perspective. Far flung and wide and so very beautiful and he thought that maybe he understood in some tiny way why Stiles didn’t share this with the others. Why this was just one thing that was just for Stiles.

“My Mom was a pilot,” Stiles said, some time later as he performed some long, lazy 360 degree turns before he headed back toward Beacon hills. “She used to tell me that being up here was like being halfway to somewhere else. Heaven, or the stars or whatever.”

“Perhaps she was right?”

“I think maybe she was.”

The flight back was quiet. Stiles made an occasional position report over what felt like an empty frequency. Peter watched the mountains stacking up forever in the distance and found that he didn’t want to land. “Can we do this again?”

Stiles grinned at him “Absolutely.”

They returned far too quickly for either of them. All too soon Stiles was contacting Beacon Hills Tower again for clearance to land. Peter’s stomach dropped a little as the wheels brushed the runway and they glided onto the ground with nary a bump. They slowed, and Stiles turned off the runway. He flipped a couple of switches, turned off the strobes and contacted Ground for taxi clearance.

The taxi back to the ramp felt quicker than the taxi to the runway, even though Peter knew it wasn’t. Stiles expertly pulled the aircraft back into its parking space and with a pull of the mixture the propeller stopped with a little jolt. Stiles flipped a few switches to shut everything down and both men pulled off their headsets.

There was a period of thoughtful silence, and then Peter said: “Thank you.”

Stiles shot him a quick grin and a nod before reaching back for the sunscreen. Peter helped him get it into place. He pulled the key from the ignition and slid the control lock into place and then packed up the headsets. Peter watches him chain the aircraft down again and slide the pitot cover onto the pitot tube.

Stiles makes a quick call to the fuel center to refuel Bette (always keep full fuel, Stiles remembers. It provides less space for water and contaminates to get into the tanks) as he rounds the plane with his bag over one shoulder.

Peter lets Stiles sling an arm around his waist, and returns the favor by draping his own around Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m suddenly very hungry.”

Stiles’ stomach chose that moment to growl very loudly and they both laughed. “Flying makes me hungry,” Stiles offered, unashamed.

“I’m buying,” Peter said as they reached the cars.

Stiles flung his bag into the back of his jeep and swung around to face the older man. “Deal!”

Peter caught Stiles’ face in his hands and smiled at him. Stiles smiled back into the kiss he delivered and took the opportunity to mess up Peter’s perfectly styled hair. Peter pulled away with a huff of laughter.

“Gianetti’s?” Stiles asked, unashamed of what he’d just done.

“Sounds perfect.”

“Meet you there!”

  
_.. fin .._

**Author's Note:**

> If you see anything you feel I should add to the glossary, please let me know. I didn't actually set out to confuse anyone. Aviation is my life right now as I get my Commercial Rating so this is my passion.


End file.
